With Both Hands
by Wingedteen
Summary: “Well, Louise, when you have the chance of finding a little bit of magic, you hold onto it as hard as you can,” Sarah smiled, gaze directed at the talk show host, “Painting is my way of holding on with two hands.”


Inspired by Pika-la-Cynique's picture on DA (remove spaces),

http : // pika-la-cynique . deviantart . com / art / LABYRINTH-Here-s-the-day-48643717

That pic kept me up until midnight writing this thing. INSPIRATIONAL!

YES, shock horror, I am not dead! I live! Sorry to all those hoping for an update on some of my other stories...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth, or Sarah, but I do own Louise (MWHAHAHA!) and this story/plot. Please respect that, or I'll send his Glittery Nibs after you!!!

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"Well, Louise, when you have the chance of finding a little bit of magic, you hold onto it as hard as you can," she smiled, gaze directed at the talk show host, "Painting is my way of holding on with two hands."

The interviewer nodded enthusiastically, rearranging her pencil skirt without taking her eyes off of Sarah's cheerful face.

"Oh, yes! Not many of us manage to find our own magic." She said excitedly, revelling in the chance to talk live with the famous artist.

"But that's alright, because some of us just make our own." Sarah said with a carefree chuckle that was echoed by the woman across from her.

The talk show set was packed, chairs filled and overflowing with audience members hanging onto the elusive painter's every word. Though Sarah Williams was only an artist, she had a demanding presence and an excruciatingly wonderful gift that hogged the spotlight nationwide. The evening talk show organisers had tripped over themselves to accommodate her when she had called in with an impromptu visit. The host, a pleasant woman who's only vice was the obvious signs of time spent under the knife, was almost vibrating in her seat. It was quite obvious that she wished to draw out every little dirty secret and juicy morsel of gossip that Sarah had in her. The bafflingly mysterious painter led a life in the spotlight, yet cloaked in secret smiles and ambiguity. No paparazzi or reporter had ever taken a step over the threshold of Sarah's designer house, but not for lack of trying. Her door was never locked, but it was always closed firmly to prying eyes. The celebrity (for she was, somehow, a well-known figure in the public eye, despite the fact that her acting career had flopped) had no close friends, it would seem, outside of family and the painting scene. When queried with her lack of "friendly human contact" she would laugh and shrug it off with a comment about how her head was far too in the clouds for most, or about how she still believed in imaginary friends that no one else could see. The reports always laughed along with her, but always had the strange feeling that she wasn't just cracking a joke.

"Did you find yours, or make your own? Magic, I mean." the interviewer pressed, eager to discover the painter's true muse. Sarah smiled, her eyes glinting in such an enchanting, mischievous way that the audience collectively held their breath.

"A bit of both, I'd have to say. I am one of the lucky ones who found mine… but I may also have brought it on myself." That smile reappeared, the one rich with veiled secrets and accompanied by a twinkle that said, 'I know something you don't'.

Louise was obviously eager to the follow that smile to whatever juicy gossip it would expose, but acknowledged that Sarah would reveal nothing more. She switched subjects.

"So, Sarah, you've told us _why_ you paint… how about what _inspires_ you?"

"My dreams, really." Louise, like a tiger with a dangled scrap of meat, pounced.

"Dreams?"

"Yeah," Sarah relaxed into her chair, "I suppose I always have had a very overactive imagination, especially when I was younger. I have always wondered whether some of my paintings are so popular because of that piece of childhood-spun fantasy that always seems to sneak its way in. For example, I can't paint a boring scene without having something mischievous and sneaky going on in the background."

The audience laughed as a picture of one of Sarah's paintings appeared on an overhead screen. It depicted a frustrated-looking man sitting behind an office desk, seemingly swamped by paperwork. The exquisite work on the painting and emotion in the man's face would have made the picture, had it not been for Sarah's… trademark details.

Tiny, grubby creatures with horns and tusks and goofy smiles scampered across the page, hiding in the filing cabinet, chewing on the stapler, tying his shoelaces together and generally causing mayhem. Their cheeky little faces were unique and detailed, and obviously painted with a loving hand. Sarah, too, smiled at the goblin's antics, but her gaze was fixed on the window to the left of the steaming man, which showed an old tree leaning close to the building, and a flash of feathers in the form of a strangely intelligent-eyed barn owl. It watched the scene with almost a smirk in its beady eyes.

"Ahh, one of my favourites!" Sarah laughed, finally turning back to Louise as the giggles died out.

"Are these the 'imaginary friends' you're always referring to?" the interviewer asked curiously, gesturing to the mischievous creatures immortalized on canvas and digital image.

"The ones that no one else can see?" Sarah asked with a cheeky smile, "You could say that."

"So Sarah, what careers did you consider and aspire for before becoming a household name among the artistic world?"

"When I was a little girl, I wanted, like most, to be a princess." she smiled sheepishly in mock embarrassment at her admittance, looking over at the laughing audience, "OK, OK! Not very original, I know. But, when I was a little older, I wanted to be the _Goblin_ Princess."

"The Goblin _Princess_? Why not Queen?" for a brief moment, Sarah's expression faltered.

"Well, I did really want to be Goblin Queen, but being the Queen came with… disastrous complications at the time, or so I thought." She shrugged.

"Complications? You say it like you may have had the option to _be_ Queen." Louise, unknowingly perceptive in the matter, observed as an I-Know-Secrets smile slid onto Sarah's face.

"Doesn't every girl think she can be? Besides, that's another story." She winked. Louise brightened, undeterred by the swift dismissal.

"Oh, yes, stories! A little birdie told me that you once tried your hand in being an author! We all know of your wonderful children's picture books, but what about that novel rumour said you were writing?"

"Ah, that." Sarah smiled, putting a hand on each knee, "The story became too… personal for public viewing, I'm afraid. And while I have been told that I am an excellent story-teller, I don't have the patience for such heavy-duty writing. I find painting a better way to express what I'm feeling… the strokes of the brush and mixing of the colours are very calming." Her eyes became far-off, filled with the memories of masterpieces painted through the night with a burning need to capture whatever story she had produced on canvas. Someone scurried up to Louise with a blank canvas and a paint set, and the interviewer offered them to Sarah with a smile and a 'show us how it's done'. She set up the canvas, dipped her brush into the first colour, and blocked the camera's view with a wink.

The audience watched with awe as she described how it felt to just close your eyes and paint something that you have dreamed so vividly, a picture already painted on the back of your eyelids, and transfer it onto a canvas stage or paper shrine for the entire world to see. The feeling that people could guess, but would never really know exactly what you were seeing, what you were feeling, when you touched brush to canvas or pencil to paper.

As Sarah had been speaking, describing with her hands and paint as well as her words, the children had untangled themselves from the crowd and their parents, and had gathered around the edge of the platform leading up to the set. They stared, unblinking and mesmerized, as she spun a tale of a young, bratty girl, her screaming baby brother, and the little red book that told her the story and gave her the Right Words. Sarah made exaggerated gestures, adjusted her tone to fit the high, dramatic one of the girl in her story, and watched as the people she was entrancing lost themselves in a world of twisted labyrinths, witty puzzles and challenges, of a friendly monster, a disgruntled dwarf and a knightly fox. She wove them deep into a tale of oubliettes, goblins, dreams and their crystal containers, and a cruel but generous Goblin King who danced in a crystal ballroom and sang woefully into the depths of a twisting, confusing room of staircases. By the time Sarah had finished her elaborate story, she had several small children crowded around her, touching her skirt and smiling up with captivated looks on their tiny faces.

When her voice finally trailed off and stopped echoing through the silent set, the camera men suddenly realised that they had run well over their allotted time on air. They breathed a sigh of relief when they realised that the camera had still been rolling, however, and that Sarah's captivating story was preserved on film. Louise's mind was reeling, recovering from Sarah's story and imagining all the viewers this insight into Sarah William's dreams would bring the show. But something seemed missing from the story. How could it end there, with the princess without her King? She could feel her reporter-spidey-senses tingling.

Sarah stepped back, and half-glazed eyes snapped back to her. She put down her paintbrush with a smile, revealing her work.

In the first, was a scene from a familiar fairytale. Goblins balancing along a high gate drunkenly, mouths wide open in frozen shouts, fireys throwing heads over a make-shift volleyball net that seemed to have caught fire, tiny biting fairies chasing black chickens around the courtyard, and three figures standing by an overflowing fountain. A gentle giant, a feisty fox and a gnarled dwarf with his back turned, happily peeing into the yellowing fountain. But the scene was half-obscured by a giant owl, body out of the frame but with its regal head turned towards the viewer. There was a haughty tilt to its head, and a mockingly amused glint in its glittering black eye. Most were too busy picking apart the painting with their eyes that they failed to notice that Sarah was moving, until she picked the painting up and titled it forwards and back again. They then noticed that Sarah had pencilled and image over the dried oil paint, revealing the sketched reflection of a girl, staring with morbid fascination towards two items placed on her simple, cluttered desk.

A crystal, containing the original oil-painted scene, and a single white feather.

Before the enchanted silence on the set could be broken, Sarah simply patted each child on the head with a tenderly cheeky smile and walked straight out of the building.

--

"Sarah!" Louise yelled, almost tripping over her heels in an effort to chase after the incredibly-talented fairytale-painter ahead of her. Sarah finally turned to acknowledge her, watching as Louise bent over with her hands on her knees in order to catch her breath.

"S-Sarah, I-"

"Say your right words." Sarah mocked, turning to face the flustered woman.

"Sarah… back there, on the set… your story," Louise gulped, "It is _your_ story isn't it? You… you were the girl."

"Yes, I was the girl who survived dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, who fought her way to the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child that he had stolen." The serious-faced painter took a step forward, and Louise took a step back in fear of the look in the other woman's startlingly emerald green eyes. "For my will was as great as his, and my kingdom as strong, and he had no power over me."

One more step forward with each declaration, and they were standing almost nose-to-nose.

"Yes, I was that girl."

Sarah turned on her heel, back down the alley, without a last glance towards Louise's stunned figure. The talk show host slid to her knees, mind whirring and brain overloading and-

As she watched, a white flash of feathers swooped down straight towards Sarah, who continued her march without even a sideways look. But instead of colliding with her, the owl melted into a tall, dark figure in jewel-encrusted armour with his arm hooked with Sarah's. The same dark armour seemed to slither across their linked arms until it encased Sarah's figure. All Louise could see as the two blended into the shadows was a flash of the Goblin King's hair as he threw his head back and laughed, the masculine, rumbling sound mixing with Sarah's delighted, carefree one.

_You found your magic, Sarah,_ Louise thought. _Just make sure to hold on with both hands this time. _


End file.
